Title: Casualties Of Accidental Dating
Author: skysamuelle
Author's Note: Betaed by Emmy/martinigirl15, inspired by impishdragon
Rating: MATURE
Timeline: Post 'Fool Me Once'
Summary: A series of accidental dates between Bonnie Bennett and Damon Salvatore stir feelings of a deeper nature than anyone would have guessed. Currently on – Darkness, sex and reluctant fluff.
PART 11
XVI
Bonnie feels that Damon is different lately, like there's something constantly distracting him. He is perpetually on the edge between playing the standoffish jackass and cornering her somewhere he can murmur the filthiest, hottest endearments to her ear.
She doesn't question him openly because he's Damon Salvatore and being a temperamental bastard is his trademark. Besides, each and every time she dares to do as much as comment on his mood swings, he mocks her.
The witch constantly reminds herself that it's useless to play therapist to the likes of him.
She will never understand him, that is something she accepted as fact a long time ago.
Hell, she doesn't even understand how he can be so turned on after he has seen her setting a bunch of Klaus's minions on fire.
Yet his eyes are flashing from surprised blue to hungry black and just like that, she is pressed between a tree trunk and his muscled, trembling-with-tension body.
And she is sweaty, dirty with cinder and pretty sure she stinks of charred meat, but his hips grind against hers and Bonnie has never felt sexier. Or more alive.
---
She is dancing in a dark, infinite space, the heavy beat of an old indie rock ballad reverberating through the air, and all that's covering her clammy, hyper-aware body is a blood-red sundress. Her feet are bare as they slap the hard, cold floor and there's a feeling of languid arousal spreading into her blood.
She is all alone yet she feels a presence all around her, permeating every corner of this pitch black, shapeless darkness. Nothing quite makes sense. Slightly disturbed or not, she plays along with the charade and keeps dancing until she feels like every inch of her skin is on fire, thousands of bold ghost fingers creeping under her dress and crawling over every hidden curve.
Bonnie snaps, pushes the inappropriate touches away at once, enveloping herself in a cocoon of white, warm light. "You are twisted." She states neutrally, waiting.
A minute or two of absolute silence elapses before Damon's figure cuts the darkness and the dream-reality shatters into a more pleasant setting. Damon's very bedroom, unsurprisingly.
"You are getting better at detecting me," he boasts, like it's all thanks to him.
Rat bastard. Bonnie thinks, rubbing her arms self-consciously.
"When I asked you to teach me to shield my dreams, I didn't mean you could transform them into a non-stop-porn-channel!"
"Now Bonnie, let's not be ungrateful. I'm trying to motivate you, here. I'm being subtle. Klaus is way more expert than I am at mind-control. You need to be appropriately schooled. "
Just the way his lips go about pronouncing that last word makes it sound filthy.
"You are a pig." Bonnie hisses, and if looks could maim, he would be in shreds already. Obviously, Damon takes it as encouragement to be even more of a cocky ass.
His eyes crinkle humorlessly and his smirk grows brazenly predatory: "No, apparently I'm the vampire who twists your dreams into reality."
The witch snorts, holding her chin high in a show of untamed pride. "You were manipulating my perceptions and sensations. Any physical response I experienced, it was all your doing."
"I know"-suddenly, he is gone, only to materialize again behind her, his lips on her nape - "Being in control is the best part."
Bonnie smiles slightly before fading out of his arms and reappearing seated at the center of his bed. "You were in control. Let's not forget the past tense. "
The trick is always the same- he will sneak into her mind whenever her guard is low, messing up her dreams and staying hidden until she will recognize his presence in the background. Then it's all fair game and she can either propel him out or fight fire with fire. It's starting to scare her, how much she is learning to enjoy the second option.
She never used to be this competitive, confident, fierce person.
She never used to gasp in delight when Damon pinned her down, like he's doing right now.
"I've always wondered how dream-fucking would feel if the other party was self-aware, too."
Her nails claw at his shoulder and ass, drawing blood. Within her head, she can hurt him as easily as he can hurt her.
"Let's find out." Bonnie whispers, grinds harder against him, nips at his lips.
Some violent foreplay later, she awakens panting, frustrated as hell because there is certain 'business' you can't finish while sleeping.
But it doesn't matter because Damon is there, kneeled beside her, his rapacious hands already reaching for her nightgown before she kisses him harshly.
XVII
He keeps getting this weird feeling whenever he is near to her: it proclaims the witch as his own, and not the same way a piece of human cattle or an elegant pair of shoes might be. Damon has always been possessive of his things and of his prey, but this is something altogether different - he feels that Bonnie belongs to him as much as his powers, his fangs, his past, his proclivity for revenge and scheming do.
And this, he knows, is fucking stupid.
He shouldn't care that she is spending so much time with Matt Donovan since the blonde guy and his even blonder surrogate of a girlfriend have broken up, because that is how Bonnie is –a disgustingly good friend who would care about the humiliation of a jock whose personal cheerleader has been cheating with his werewolf of a best friend- even when there's a war between vampire clans exploding around her.
The way Bonnie reacts to Matt's presence has never been sexual. Damon has, in theory, virtually no reason to feel …bereft? Neglected?
It's him Bonnie shares her bed with, so who cares if she wastes her time playing the emotional clutch to a pathetic little human boy?
"Damon, are you jealous?" she asks him once, amused.
"About what, exactly?" He scoffs, a half-tone more disdainful than strictly necessary. "You are more attracted to your collection of hippie-styled purses than you are to Mutt."
Bonnie shakes her head, her smile reshaping into a sassy smirk "So why are you always pouting when he comes up in conversation? "
"I don't pout"- Damon scowls, the very picture of boy-ish indignation- "but I know how male teenagers work. Right now you may feel sorry for him, but trust me, the line between him crying on your shoulder and him fantasizing about you putting out for his benefit is thin."
Crossing her arms in front of her chest, Bonnie looks more thoroughly entertained than never before."So, in short, you are jealous."
"No, I am not"- he waves a finger under her nose, like she is simply too young and silly to understand what he is truly explaining to her- "I just don't like when other people think they can borrow my stuff."
Out of reflex, the witch's fist dives to hit his collarbone- he grabs her wrist in mid-air and lifts it to his lips so he can trail lingering kisses from the sensitive inside of her wrist to her knuckles.
"I'm not 'stuff'." She protests, although she is biting the inside of her cheek trying not to grin. Or moan.
"Well"- he breathes on her mouth, right before tonguing it- "you're mine anyway."
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AN: Short but good, and that'all I can do do for now. Check my profile if you want to see the official banner for this fic.